


The Holuck Horn

by queensusan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, First Meeting, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensusan/pseuds/queensusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Triwizard Tournament was not the first time Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holuck Horn

The arena was built into a pit of dirt.  Rough wooden bleachers were set against the dirt walls of the pit, and at the bottom of the earthen bowl strings of glistening magic wove around the beaten dirt stage.  Late summer rains had flooded the area, and event coordinators had laid down straw, but by the third day of the festival the mud, straw and blood mixed into pasty mire than clung to the soles of Viktor’s leather boots.  
   
Viktor sighed and rubbed his foot desultorily against the edge of the seat before him.  He glanced at his brothers beside him, but found them with their eyes fastened upon the combating Hulocks in the cage below them.  His father, on his left, was similarly fascinated by the display, but Viktor’s interest in the bloody animal fighting and screaming of bets lasted for only a short while before he became disgusted and bored.  
   
Instead of watching the great shaggy goats with the glistening horns crash into each other, he gazed out among the crowd.  Brown and black met his eye, with flashes of blemished white to break the monotony, like the broken and gory animal teeth that swam in the stew of mud and blood beneath their feet.  Viktor’s eyes moved on, unsatisfied.  The crowd was mostly composed of men of varying ages, but some boys screamed and jostled in the stadium beside their fathers.  The only women present were carrying trays of hot Kazanlak doughnuts, sausages, roasted nuts and thick wine and beer.  
   
Viktor’s eyes moved restlessly on, scanning the crowd, and suddenly catching on a flash of something different.  He craned in his seat beside his father and peered through the crowd, to the elevated seat where Yordan Obolensky, the Minister of Magic, conducted an intense conversation with a middle aged man with medium length stringy brown hair.  His skin was fair, but plenty of Bulgarians were lighter skinned than Viktor’s family.  The boy who stood at his side, however, was something very uncommon indeed.  Viktor stared.  
   
The boy, about his own age, sat beside the man, probably his father, and looked around the arena boldly.  To Viktor his white skin seemed to shine brighter than the horns of the thrashing Hulocks, and his golden hair was the spot of color Viktor’s deprived eyes had sought for days.  There were some boys like that in Bulgaria, though usually among Muggles, but they were bland and forgettable compared to this boy.  Even from across the arena Viktor could see that his features were attractive and smooth, unlike his own brooding eyes and hooked nose.  Viktor tucked behind his father to avoid being seen, but continued to watch the boy until a commotion in the stands drew his attention away.   
   
The battling Hulocks had finally reached what appeared to be a final standoff.  Though evenly matched, the large goat-like mountain beasts had finally produced a victor.  One Holuck had managed to tear a gash in the side of the other, and the loss of blood had weakened it to the point that when the final thunder clap of horns clashing ricocheted against the side of the dirt arena, the fallen Hulock was dead before Viktor had time to turn his eyes to the scene.  The triumphant Hulock hung its heavy head exhaustedly, and Viktor felt a flash of sympathy.  It would not outlive the day; its meat would be harvested and sold in the outdoor markets in Sofia by the morrow.  
   
Howls of disappointment and cheers of victory broke out amongst the weaving crowd, but the children in the crowd had more important matters of small treasure hunting and trading economy to tend to.  The fallen Hulock had, by some great stroke of good fortune, had one of his horns shattered by the blow that killed it.  Shards of its glittering horn had scattered in the muddy ground, where they lay like diamonds in the muck.  Children swarmed amongst them, hands snatching and shoving as they gathered up the precious pieces.  Two of Viktor’s brothers, his youngest and his next eldest, launched themselves into the bustle, their greedy hands already grasping the air.  
   
Viktor sealed his mouth and scowled at the children, though his heart beat hard with longing.  He loved to look at the opalescent bits of Hulock horns, but his shyness kept him rooted to his seat, watching the other children enviously.  When his two oldest brothers had been younger sometimes they would share their bounty, but he knew his other two would not.  Hulock horns, aside from being valuable for uses in potions, were traded amongst children or pierced and strung on necklaces and given to girls.  His brothers would give them to girls, he knew.   
   
“Go on, then, you vant a piece,” his father said gruffly, noticing the direction of Viktor’s gaze, and he reluctantly stood.  His father disliked his reticence, especially now that Viktor would be going to Durmstrang in the fall.  At twelve, his father said, it was time to leave childhood behind and be bold, but everyone in his family knew the Viktor was the quietest and most bashful of all his brothers and sisters.  
   
“Yes, Father,” he muttered obediently, and climbed slowly down the stands.  Mud and squeals of laughter were flying thick through the air, and he approached with his hands deep in his pocket and his shoulders bowed.  He knew many of the audience were watching the spectacle indulgently and instantly felt more awkward.  He glanced up at them, his eyes instantly going to the Minister of Magic and the boy who sat pertly beside him.  Their eyes met for a moment, and then glanced off each other like striking flints.  Viktor tucked his head down and shuffled forward, his eyes searching the ground.  If only he could find a piece then he could return to his father without having to scuffle on the ground with the other children.  Viktor was no stranger to fighting of course, but the idea of that boy watching him made every hair on his body stand to embarrassed attention.   
   
And then his prayers were answered, for almost completely hidden beneath the dirt was a tiny glint of silvery white.  It was just the smallest spec of brightness amongst the dirt, but Viktor’s eyes were sharp and attracted to color.  The shard was a good two feet beyond the fray of scrabbling children, but he knew that if he made any sudden moves they would be upon it in a moment.  Viktor froze, then shuffled forward, his eyes purposefully away from the piece of Holuck horn.  Only when he was nearly standing upon it did he bend swiftly and snatch it out of the mud.  It was a smooth piece, and much larger than any he owned.  It felt heavy and satisfying in his hand, and the color was fresh and pure.  He tipped it to the side and admired the rainbow that swirled around the organic grain of the surface.  It would make a beautiful necklace, though Viktor knew he would not be giving it to a girl.  
   
“What do you have?” asked a clear, confident English voice, and Viktor’s breath caught in his throat.  He turned awkwardly on his feet, suddenly hyper aware of how clumsy he was with his inwardly pointed toes and slouch.  He wasn’t surprised to find the beautiful golden haired boy standing behind him, poised and straight backed.  Viktor was taller, but his back naturally curved when he was self-conscious, and it might have appeared practically hump backed at this point.  Now that he was closer Viktor realized that the boy might be younger than himself, though not by much.  His face was smooth but beginning to lose the roundness of youth and become sharper and stronger.   
   
Viktor closed his fingers around the Holuck horn for a moment; an instinctively protective gesture born of growing up with eight siblings.  Immediately he blushed harder and uncurled his fingers, hastily rubbing it against the edge of his tunic to wipe the worst of the mud off before handing it to the boy silently.  If the boy stole it Viktor could have fought him for it, and won.  He was no stranger to fighting, but unlike his brothers Viktor picked his battles, and would most likely let the Holuck horn go unchallenged.  
   
The boy examined the fragment admiringly, turning it in his palm to admire the rainbow effect, the way Viktor had.  “It’s pretty.  And it came from those goats?”  
   
Viktor nodded shyly, though his eyes watched the boy’s face closely.  “They’re Holucks.”  
   
The boy nodded, and gazed thoughtfully at the living Holuck that was being led away by handlers, and the dead one which lay still in the mud.  “My father is with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  He’s trying to talk your Minister into outlawing animal fighting.  It’s inhumane.”   
   
Viktor didn’t know what inhumane meant, but he wasn’t terribly opposed to the outlawing of the summer festival.  He’d always found it distasteful, though he’d have had a hard time explaining properly why that was so.  “Does your father have luck?” he asked, and though Viktor spoke English better than most of the children his age, his discomfort made his voice thick and unmanageable in his mouth.  
   
The boy, at any rate, seemed to understand him.  He handed the Holuck horn back reluctantly.  “Not really.  The festival is very traditional, he says.  We’re going to leave soon.”  He glanced behind him, up at his father, before turning back to Viktor.  “I should go.”  
   
Something in the boy’s voice made Viktor reach out spontaneously and touch his sleeve.  The fabric was blue and his hand looked very dark against it, but the boy didn’t seem to mind.  Viktor did not withdraw his hand, but instead held the Holuck horn up.  “These glow.  Do you vant to see?”  
   
The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded.  Viktor, with his hand still on his sleeve, led him through the muddle of retreating children and around to the side of the arena where the stadiums separated to allow for the underground entrance and exit.  There was opening beneath the roughly built stadiums where boy came to smoke cigarettes away from the watchful eyes of their fathers, but fortunately when Viktor lead the boy into the shadowy cavern, they were alone.  Viktor watched the boy look around him, at the muddy popcorn strew floor and the slatted roof the benches of the stadium made.  Arses, legs and muddy boots could be seen, but Viktor and the boy could not be seen from above.  The boy looked back at Viktor, and he grinned.  
   
Viktor grinned back, for a moment forgetting that his own teeth were uneven and yellow compared to the white perfection of the boy’s smile.  He realized that he had his hand still clasped on the boy’s sleeve, and finally released him.  “Look,” he said, and held up his cupped hand, creating a dome around the horn fragment with a single slit for the boy to see within.  The boy leaned over and pressed his eye against Viktor’s hands, and gasped with pleasure.  When he straightened he was still grinning, and Viktor impulsively pressed the precious piece of horn into his hand.  “You keep it,” he said gruffly, feeling his heart beat hard in his thin chest at his own daring.  
   
“Keep it?” the boy asked, startled.  “But why?”  
   
Viktor blushed warmly, but his flush could not be seen in the darkness.  “Because it is pretty, so you should have it.  You are pretty too.”  
   
“Pretty?  Boys aren’t pretty,” the boy scoffed, but his expression was not offended.  Viktor frowned, thinking his grasp of the English language had let him down.   
   
“You think I’m pretty?”  
   
Viktor stared down at the dirt, feeling ashamed.  Finally he nodded.  
   
“You could kiss me if you wanted to,” the boy said, and for the first time his voice didn’t sound so confident.   
   
Viktor glanced up sharply, believing he was being teased.  But the boy’s expression was sincere, and he knew he would kiss him then.  It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about kissing another boy, but it was the first time anyone had ever suggested that such a thing was even possible.  “Ok,” he said, and licked his lips nervously.  The two boys took a cautious step forward, and Viktor grasped the boy’s shoulders lest he squirm.  The boy touched his fingers against the sides of Viktor’s tunic.  He was looking at Viktor’s lips, and Viktor felt a flash of something physical and wanting he’d begun to feel only in the last few months.  It had confused him then, but he wasn’t confused about what he wanted to do now.  Still grasping the boy’s shoulders, gently now, he pulled the fair haired boy to him and pressed his lips against the boy’s soft pucker.   
   
Had he known enough about kissing he’d have known it was awkward and chaste, but as it was his first kiss all he knew was that he liked it, and it was over too quickly.  All too soon the other boy was backing away, smiling and blushing and looking at the dirt floor.   
   
“Thank you,” he said, as though it was something to be thanked for.  “I-I should go now.”  The boy took hesitant steps towards the light, but Viktor stopped him with a hand to his sleeve again.  
   
“Vait.  Vhat is your name?  I’m Viktor Krum.”  
   
“Cedric Diggory.  Goodbye Viktor!” he exclaimed with a grin, and then was gone, leaving Viktor alone in the dark.   
   
Viktor walked slowly out from under the stadium.  The children had retrieved what there was to find among the rubble and the Holucks had been removed.  When he took his place beside his father he looked automatically over at the Minister again, and saw that Cedric had returned to his spot as well.  
   
“Vhat are you looking at?”  There was a sharpness in his father’s tone that Viktor did not immediately notice, and so he answered honestly.   
   
“I am looking at that boy,” Viktor said, and felt no need to explain his words, because they were so obvious.  Amongst the blood and straw and drooling beasts, only one thing seemed worth looking at.  Cedric was simply the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.  
   
“Vhy are you looking at him?”  
   
Viktor glanced away, finally, from the golden haired boy, though his gaze trembled indecisively, torn between attending to his father and returning to Cedric.  Even though he looked no longer, however, the boy’s white skin and fair hair imprinted against the backs of his eyelids like staring at the sun for too long.  He could still feel his soft lips against his own.  
   
“He’s different,” Viktor said vaguely, unable to put words to the draw he felt to the boy, and then caught the quaver in his own tone. He pressed his vocal chords, preparing to deepen his voice.  His father liked to hear him speak like a man.  
   
“Different is bad, Viktor,” his father said, and though his words were nothing he hadn’t heard before, the tone of his voice immediately ripped his eyes away from Cedric and up at his father.  His father did not often hit him, but he held each of his sons dangling on a firm rope of obedience nevertheless.  The darkening of his brow or the punctuation of his voice was enough to bring any one of them to heel.   
   
Viktor moistened his lips, but said nothing.  His voice would have pitched up into childhood again.  
   
“I don’t like the way you look at boys,” his father said finally.  Those were words that had fermented for who knew how long?  Those were words his father hadn’t wanted to say.  
   
Viktor trembled.  He wanted to look away, but if he had his eyes might have returned to the boy, and his father would have known that Viktor’s gaze was unlike the gaze of other boys.  So instead he nodded and stared at his lap for a long time.  By the time he dared a glance up, Cedric and his father were gone.

Viktor wondered if he'd ever see Cedric again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy this please let me know! I always meant to continue this with the Triwizard Tournament but never got around to it and eventually lost interest. In my head however Cedric and Viktor meet again, Cedric doesn't die and they live happily ever after, la la la this is my new canon you can't tell me differently.


End file.
